"Because you can be whatever you want to"

Who loves Halloween? (let the me-ing commence) I still dress up. Yeah, I'm probably too old and yes, people do give me the little half-smile "aren't-you-too-old-for-a-head-to-toe-costume?" look. I don't care and in all honesty, that kind of makes the holiday even better! Last year, I braved the criticism and dressed up like Sarah Palin. It was a great costume, especially since I actually like Palin. Somehow it was okay to scold the insults of my fellow neighbors while I was wearing Palin get-up. The year before I was a tootsie roll...it's wonderful being a candy. Before the slow and painful death of a hungry person's mouth, you're well loved. The year before I was Marie Antoinette. Let me start by saying most people thought I was a Disney Princess. "Oh are you Belle?" and other such nonsense. Ari was King Louis, but of course everyone called him "Captain Hook". This is so troubling! I wore a heavy wig and everything! Anyway, I gained a new appreciation for her, and the many back aches that silly wig probably gave her.

This year, I'm going to be a fairy. I love saying "I'm going to be a _____". It's so thrilling...reminds me of my childhood when I wanted to marry Franklin the turtle.

Being anything you want to is such a great message. I hear it everyday, but there's really only one day when it's socially acceptable to dress up like the Phantom of the Opera because "your mom made you" (even though you actually spent hours putting the costume together), like Elvis because he's the "king" (even though we all know you sing 'blue suede shoes in the shower)

So...dress up for Halloween. Even if you aren't going trick-or-treating, don't have a Halloween party to go to, and hate pumpkin flavored anything. Wearing someone else's clothes is a learning experience, and seeing someone else in the mirror is quite liberating.

I already snagged the end of a fairy wing, I'd suck as a fairy. I've gained a newfound respect for Tinkerbelle...

The ships I shape

The ships I shape shine Sunday morning sparkles

Sent to shame in the corner of my room

I see them shaking, sharing selfish gasps of oxygen, shoulder to shoulder

The ships I shape show shy sighs and wallow in sharp grief

I still cry on the bathroom floor

I'm really inspired by people who cry in the open.

They're not embarrassed to how they're hurting on the inside, and they don't lie about having a bad day. I don't know why, but there are so many people in my family that keep their deeper emotions in check, so maybe I learn it from them. I hate crying in front of people. So much so, that one of my weekly prayers is, "Thank you for giving me tears that dry fast, and don't leave my eyes looking like I've cried".

I love Ellen Degeneres, and I especially love something she said during one of her stand up shows: "There is no silence, there's just constant noise all the time and people are talking all the time. Even with all the talking there's no communication. Even when we say 'how are you?' we don't mean 'how are you?', we don't care, just give us a 'fine' or a 'good', a one syllable and move along. And don't even say 'pretty good' that's a follow-up question, 'Pretty good? Did something happen, I don't have time...to.....what?' "

I think this is true about people, including myself.

These days when I get so upset that tears occur, I'm surprised, because I didn't have time to notice my frustration was actually that bad.

So today, when there was a possibility that something I worked for so long on was not going to even matter, I instantly felt that overheated, choking-for-air feeling I get before I cry. I'm not a pretty crier, let me just say that. And I was surprised! What?! This is not the end of the world! Nobody died! "What is your problem?" I realized that with all my observations, I forgot to observe myself, evaluate my snappy impulses without realizing how trivial they are. I've decided I'm not going to cry at school anymore for the rest of the month. That's it, no matter how angry I get with myself, or a teacher, or anyone else, I'm just going to take a deep breath and smile because I'm healthy. And if I have to cry, I'm not hiding away embarrassed to say I'm mad. Because, let me just say, my school's bathroom floor is pretty cold this time of year.

A little improv poem

I wish I could say

I fit in here now

With every step I watch I

fall

in

line

I wish I could say

I've calloused my skin

That nobody sees

That I don't cry when I'm frustrated with my inability to understand

That I've grown out of it

I wish I could say

That the sparkle in my eyes

And the little girl voice I use when I'm happy

Has changed to an aggressive glint of determination

And a deep, wise, serious tone

That is constant.

But I can't

Say those things;

I'm as small as a whisper.

My people have eyes

I've been thinking about people this evening.

Specifically, people's people. "These are my people", "What hurts my people, hurts me", "I fight for my people". There's someone for everyone...blahblahblah. We've all heard it. Most of us have people. I'm not really talking about family, although your family might be your people. I'm talking about the people who you turn off your own thoughts for to listen to, not because you're "supposed to" or you have to, but because you want to. The people you care to hear, the people who speak words you make a point to see in your head, because they matter to you. The people you spend time with on the weekend. People who are important in your life. Maybe someone in your "people" group speaks to you and you get goosebumps. Or she talks and you feel an imaginary blanket cover you, head to toe. Or he smiles, and you don't need an explanation, you know why. Your people. You'd fight for them, you'd die for them. You stick with 'em. And no matter what, there's no doubt, no question. They're your people.

So what happens in school? You get mixed up with people who aren't your people. You learn to work with them. You learn to sort of care about them. And some of them, actually make it into your group of "people". This, honestly, is rare, but happens. Go talk to someone who says "high school was the best time of my life". It happened to them.

The reason why I'm writing about this, is because I don't know if I like this idea of having "people". I'm a hypocrite. However, I'm observant. I notice when I tell a white lie to get out of talking to someone who is not a part of my "people". I acknowledge the faults of my people, but I also acknowledge the ways in which I SCREAM YELL FIGHTFIGHTFIGHT, get mad when someone else talks about any and all faults of my people. Including myself. Think about wars. People with people that have tempers, and enemies.

Some people in my group of "people" don't know that they are my people.

Is this pathetic, or is this true for everyone?

I'm also thinking about eyes this evening. There was this show on T.V. called Kyle XY.

Wiki's blurb about it: "Kyle XY is an American drama television series filmed in the Vancouver, British Columbia, area. The show revolves around a boy named Kyle (Matt Dallas), who awakens in a forest outside Seattle, Washington, suffering from amnesia. The series follows Kyle as he tries to understand the mysteries of who he is and why he has no memory of being a child."

Anyway, this Kyle dude goes to live with a family and makes a great observation about eyes. He notices that most of the communication at the dinner table isn't spoken. One study at UCLA indicated that up to 93 percent of communication effectiveness is determined by nonverbal cues.

This connects back to the "my people" talk. I notice my people's nonverbal cues. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I miss those of the people outside of "my people". I need to get better at not doing that, but like every habit, it will take effort, and energy I might not want to generate. I've decided, however, to experiment. Treat someone outside of my people like someone who is a part of my people. We'll see how it goes.

Also, a poem I wrote a long time ago. I love it, so I'm sharing it with some hesitation.

Music is how we heal in this house

How his fingers touch the keys after a day of yelling, and melt away every cold word said.

How I hum along to a melody he makes up

And hug whoever is nearby

Because at the end of an absolutely horrible day

After every decision ever made is evaluated

It all comes down to this piano

And the reason why we all stay even though we're so different

Incompatible

Love.

We go on washing dishes and finishing papers and listening to 'Let It Be' as we do just that

And hope in some way the music never stops.

Some things are good ya know

All day I complain

In my head

Even when I'm smiling, I complain

"How are you?"

Fine

"How are your classes?"

Fine

"How has your day been?"

Fine

I go to work. Joe tells me I have to wheel a patient to her car in the yellow parking lot. She's a new mom.

When I get to the room, she asks if she can have a minute. I say Fine

I look at the baby in the new dad's arms

"Is it a girl or boy?"(safe, I don't want to make a mistake and say the wrong thing. No one does anymore)

"Girl" (you can tell he's smiling when he says it)

"Oh, I thought so"

"My little girl"

The earth stops. He cries a little. Kisses her forehead. He's not fine, he's better.

When time starts again with a jerk, I ask more safe questions. "Did you know it was going to be a girl?", "Are you happy to be going home". But then I leave to drop something off at the nurse's station. I don't have to, but the incredible aura around him, such strong peace and love, is too strong for me to stand. I'm used to being miserable about all the work and stress and failure of my own personal problems. But just then, when he acknowledged his love for her in front of me, a stranger, I remembered what it felt like to really smile. To smile and mean it. To be a good listener without any noise. I'll remember that little girl forever, how she changed that man by just being alive. And, at least for a little while, I'll stop being fine. Because some things are great ya know.

I was born in L.A....I have celebrity needs

I don't need luxurious things to make me happy.

I take pride in my detachment to materialistic things. We moved this summer from a house I had lived in for a little over seven years, initials in the cement and everything, and I didn't shed one tear. I don't take pride in this. I wish I was more sentimental than this when it comes to where I live, what car I'm driven in, etc... However, there are a few things that make me unhappy, frustrated, and stressed.

1) unclean cups

2) dusty chairs

3) flies

4) sticky floors

5) dog hair

6) public restrooms

I know it's irrational. I understand that I'm a spoiled, selfish, unappreciative American. But oh man, it doesn't matter what I do, these six things make me cringe and shake with anger all over. Just a few years ago, my family decided to take an R.V. trip. We went to Yellowstone. It was beautiful...absolutely breathtaking. However, the R.V. shower...not so much. It was here I discovered communal showers...ones that required .25 for every 15 min. Hello, do you know who you're dealing with here? This is the girl who was horrified this summer during vacation when she realized the shower in the apartment her family rented didn't have hot water...even though it was close to 100 degrees outside. The same chick who spends 30 MINUTES AT LEAST taking a shower every day, because she takes time to actually enjoy the experience. Anyway, when I started high school last year, I was almost entirely pleased with the women's restroom except...

1) It's as cold as hell's brother in there

2) The water from the sink isn't warm until after 2nd period

and

3) The toilet paper is not anywhere near being soft. For realz..it is barely one ply.

So, just the other day during 2nd period (the dreaded pre-calc ugh) I went to the bathroom because I was feeling stupid and needed a break and VOILA! Someone had magically removed the one ply toilet paper and replaced it with some very thick Charmin Ultra. Let me just say, this was proof again that there is a God above who loves me. I fingered it in wonder...who was the lovely janitorial person who had removed the other toilet paper wanna-be, set it on top of the dispenser, and replaced it with what looked like a BRAND NEW ROLL OF REAL TOILET PAPER? I had to meet this person. Kiss their feet, give them a thank you note! At least, shake their hand, and shout with passion, "THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!" Then I gasped. No, I couldn't even think it. OF COURSE the person who so lovingly replaced the paper in my stall did it to the others. Or did they? I unlatched the door, and quickly checked the other stalls. omg. The others were still the same crappy toilet paper as before. How could this be? HOW COULD THIS BE? I looked around, scared now. SOMEONE WAS WATCHING ME, I COULD FEEL IT! But no, alas, there was no one else in the freezing little room. This luck just happened to fall in my hands on this exact day for no apparent reason. Or was it something else? I don't believe in Karma, but folks, I admit with pride that I have never cussed at school. Oh I have been tempted, many, many times. But never have I ever actually stated out loud a four lettered sin...(I don't believe cussing is a sin--for dramatic effect).

And wouldn't you know the next day I said d***it and ruined my squeaky clean record.